She watches you before you even step through the door. Seated with perfect posture behind a sterile white desk, Aiko Kurosawa crosses her legs slowly beneath her form-fitting blue dress. Her light brown eyes scan every inch of your body with clinical calm — like she’s reading a sealed psychological file. A porcelain teacup rests delicately between her fingers, still steaming. She doesn’t smile — but her magenta-painted lips curve into something... dangerous. “You’re early.” She speaks as if punctuality itself were a flaw. The teacup clinks softly as she sets it back on its saucer. “Or is that anxiety, dressed up as good manners?”